


half a heart (to give to you)

by darlingwendy



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Kinda, Lots of Crying, M/M, Missed Connections, Pining, Yearning, a lot of softness, daichi uses the term starlight boy to describe suga, did i mention they pine for each other, falling in love with strangers in public, happy ending but like god at what yearning cost, just so much yearning here, just some soft goopy goodness here folks i don't know what else to tell u, missed connections au, the volleyball teams are all a mishmash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-13 00:02:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28644147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darlingwendy/pseuds/darlingwendy
Summary: When Suga sees the boy on the train platform, he feels as if the last puzzle piece has been pressed into place -- but instead of a picture, Suga is left staring at cardboard, with no clue what he’s just solved. He’s never met the boy. He’d remember. But when their eyes meet, the whole world holds its breath. The train rushes in, and Suga blinks, lifting a hand to his face.He’s crying.--missed connections au. vaguely inspired by your name (but only barely, so no spoilers). complete.
Relationships: Azumane Asahi/Nishinoya Yuu, Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio, Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru, Kozume Kenma/Kuroo Tetsurou, Minor/Mentioned: - Relationship, Sawamura Daichi/Sugawara Koushi, Shimizu Kiyoko/Yachi Hitoka, Tsukishima Kei/Yamaguchi Tadashi
Comments: 23
Kudos: 72





	1. brown, blue, or green

**Author's Note:**

> so a few nights ago the groupchat watched your name and this fic would not let me sleep til i wrote it. uhhhh,,,,this is my first hq fiq pls accept my humble offering to the fandom. come scream w me on tumblr @darlingwendy pls i need more hq in my life

When Suga sees the boy on the train platform, he feels as if the last puzzle piece has been pressed into place -- but instead of a picture, Suga is left staring at cardboard, with no clue what he’s just solved. He’s never met the boy. He’d remember. But when their eyes meet, the whole world holds its breath. The train rushes in, and Suga blinks, lifting a hand to his face.

He’s crying.

**

“Orange and black?” Oikawa hums as he thinks, fingers absentmindedly twirling a pen. It slips from his hand and flies towards Iwaizumi, who manages to bat it away before it does any serious damage.

“Sorry, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa coos, flashing a grin. Iwaizumi rolls his eyes, and Suga has been friends with the two of them long enough to know _this_ is what it looks like with Iwa smiles for Oikawa. The two of them have always been like this, an endless push and pull, Iwa the steady moon to Oikawa’s blazing sun. Suga has never really envied them for it, but today, it tugs at his chest in a new way. It feels melancholic, the gray tone of a rainy day alone. He’s unsettled.

“Sorry, too, Suga-chan. I don’t know orange and black,” Oikawa says, turning his attention back to his friend. 

“Are you sure it was orange? Nekoma’s red and black, I think,” Iwaizumi offers. Suga smiles, shaking his head.

“I’m sure. It’s fine. It’s not a big deal, really. Just curious,” Suga says, waving off their concerns with a twitch of his hand. Oikawa leans down to grab his pen, and Iwazuimi stares at Suga in that deeply piercing way. 

“What happened?”

“Nothing, really,” Suga tries. Iwaizumi doesn’t budge. Suga presses his lips together, glancing down at his lunch. “I just saw someone this morning. He looked familiar, but I don’t think I’ve ever met him.”

“Oh, Suga-chan has a crush!” Oikawa exclaims, sitting back up with a beaming smile. He cradles his face in his hand, leaning forward and batting his long eyelashes at Suga. “Was he cute?” Suga rolls his eyes. It’s too late, though. The blush has already started to color his cheeks. Oikawa hums in triumph, and Iwa reaches over, flicking Oikawa’s shoulder.

“Hey!” Oikawa protests, grabbing at his arm with his hand and frowning. “It was just a question. He was, wasn’t he?”

Suga tries to shrug in a way that conveys how casual he feels about the boy from the train. Iwaizumi raises an eyebrow.

_Okay. Not casual._

“He was cute,”--Oikawa grins--“but that’s not it. Not really,” Suga adds quickly, before Oikawa can cut in again. “He just looked so familiar.”

_So familiar I cried._

“Maybe your work friends will know,” Iwaizumi offers. The thought hadn’t yet occurred to Suga, and the relief on his face must be palpable, judging from the look his friends exchange. 

“That cute, hm?” 

This time, it’s Suga who leans over to flick Oikawa.

**

He’s typically punctual. Suga appreciates the consistency of showing up early, likes to have some time for himself before the busy rush of dinner. Normally, he shows up fifteen minutes early, takes his time getting changed, drinking water, sitting at a table to begin sorting silverware before their pre-shift meeting. He’ll exchange a joke with Nishinoya, set aside a plate of dinner for Asahi, laugh at the others when Kiyoko arrives.

Today, Suga scrambles in with two minutes to spare. He’s fumbling with his tie, jerking on his jacket, and nearly bowls Kiyoko over as he hustles through the doorway.

“Sugawara-san,” she says, reaching out to right him as he nearly trips over his own shoes. “Are you alright?”

_No._

“Yes.” He slaps on a grin and hopes she’ll ignore the blush that’s spreading over his face. The space between her brow wrinkles, but before he can stammer out an excuse, she nods. 

“Alright. Come on. We don’t want to be late.” She breezes down the hallway, and Suga understands why the others melt in her presence. She might be the closest thing to an angel he’s ever met. 

When he sinks into a seat next to Asahi, the taller man slides a plate of food in his direction. Suga melts. As imposing as he could be, Asahi has never been anything short of gentle. Suga whispers his thanks, wanting to get a few bites in before Ukai starts the meeting. Asahi’s hand on his wrist stops him. When he looks up, the taller man’s eyes are filled with concern. Suga glances down at his plate. A sheepish smile crinkles the corners of his eyes.

“If I told you, you’d think I was crazy.”

“Try me.”

_This morning, I saw a boy I’ve never met. I thought I saw him on a passing train while was on my way here, so I got off two stops early and ran through the crowd like a madman. I didn’t find him. I cried, again, over a stranger. The worst part is--I miss him. I don’t know his name. I miss him and it feels like I missed a stair. If I don’t find him, I don’t think I’ll ever touch the ground._

“Do you know of a school uniform that’s black and orange?”

Asahi tilts his head in thought. Before he can answer, Ukai enters the room, already talking. Asahi gives Suga an apologetic look, but shifts back in his seat and turns his attention towards their manager. Suga tries to do the same. All he can think about are brown eyes. The distraction continues throughout the shift. He’s clumsy, inattentive, forgetting to mark steaks with knives or refill waters. At one particularly bad moment, when his arms are full of dirty plates and his mind is drifting over the city’s skyline, a table waves him over to complain about a hair in their food. Suga has to bite his tongue---the red curl, clearly plucked out of the customer’s own head, would match no one in the kitchen. Steam must rise off his shoulders, because Kiyoko steps in, placing a gentle hand on Suga’s arm, a gentle attempt to dismiss him. He nods his head, aware that he owes Kiyoko twice over now, and stumbles back to the kitchen. A plate nearly shatters. He nearly shatters, too.

Finally, the shift is over. They’re all exhausted after a surprisingly busy Tuesday dinner shift, and no one speaks as they shuffle around the dining room, trying to get everything back in order. Suga is rolling silverware---the only job deemed safe, in his current condition---when Kiyoko sits down across from him. He glances up, immediately flushing red. She waves her hand slightly, an attempt to put him at ease, and spreads a few linen napkins out in front of her. Kiyoko rolls silverware like she does everything--efficient, graceful, almost intimidatingly artful. Suga can tell everyone is staring at them, but Kiyoko doesn’t seem to mind, her nimble fingers continuing their work. 

“This is a new side of you, Sugawara-san,” she says, her eyes not leaving the silverware in front of her. If possible, Suga flushes deeper. His hand twitches - the urge to scratch at the back of his neck warring with not wanting to wash his hands again - and he draws the inside of his cheek between his teeth.

“Yeah,” he starts, the word lilting upwards. 

“It’s nice,” Kiyoko says. A smile flickers over her mouth. Suga can practically hear Noya, their best runner, melting from his side station. Suga only feels confusion. He meets her gaze, finding only kindness, laced with a shade of amusement. “You’re normally very composed. It’s a nice reminder that you _are_ human.” 

Suga lets out a laugh that’s mostly breath, leaning his head to one side as the blush spreads to his neck. 

“I could say the same for you,” he says, gesturing towards her with a spoon. She actually laughs at that, and the clattering of plates confirms Suga’s suspicions that Noya is just staring. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Asahi move across the room, kneeling down to help Nishinoya gather everything he’s just dropped. Suga resists the urge to turn and observe. Asahi’s care for Nishinoya goes far beyond the support of staff. Normally, it brings Suga a melted joy to watch his friend’s unaware affection, but today, the thought feels sharp. Kiyoko seems to pay them no mind, but when Suga meets her eyes, she winks. He smiles. His shoulders relax.

“To our newly discovered humanity,” she says, dropping another perfectly rolled napkin into the bin between them. He nods, and they roll together in peace. They’re nearly finished when Kiyoko breaks the silence.

“Azumane-san mentioned you were asking about uniforms.” 

Suga blinks. Quickly, he nods, too tired to worry about how eager he must look. Kiyoko smiles.

“Orange and black, right?”

“Yes. Do you know which school that is?”

“Mm,” Kiyoko hums, “maybe. I’ll have to double check, but the town my girlfriend grew up in -- their high school colors were orange and black.” 

Suga is so relieved by the thought of a clue he hardly processes the rest of her statement. Slowly, it peeks through the fog of his brain, and he blinks once, twice, hands frozen in mid-air as he realizes what she’s said.

“I didn’t realize you were seeing someone,” he stammers out, finally, after a thousand years of stunned silence. Kiyoko smiles. It’s fonder, this time, soft, meant for a person only with them in thought. 

“There’s a lot about me you don’t know.” She doesn’t say it like an admonishment, but rather an admittance. “Are you busy tomorrow?”

Suga shakes his head.

“Would you like to get lunch with me and Hikota-chan?”

Nishinoya might die in Asashi’s arms.

“I’d - yes. Please. Yes. Thank you.”

Kiyoko holds out a perfect hand, and Suga scrambles for his phone, plopping it into her waiting palm. She quickly types in her phone number, and when she gives him his phone back, he sees that she’s texted herself. 

“Thank you, Kiyoko-san.”

“Kiyoko is fine,” she says, another one of her brilliant smiles lighting up her face. 

“You can call me Suga,” he replies. She nods, completing her final roll and placing it in the now-full bin. 

“See you tomorrow, Suga.” She floats out of the room, and Suga finally turns. True to form, Nishinoya has draped himself over Asahi’s arms, hearts floating out of his eyes. Asahi looks a little startled, and Suga can see his hands shaking from here, stiff with exertion, trying desperately not to clutch at Nishinoya’s tiny frame. 

“I can’t believe you’re getting lunch with her,” Nishinoya exhales, turning his head to stare at Suga.

“It’s rude to eavesdrop.”

“We could come with you! Right, Asahi? You’re not busy tomorrow, are you?”

“We’re, uh, scheduled to work, Yu.” 

Nishinoya deflates, burying his face in Asahi’s chest, a low groan emanating from his body. Asahi stares at Suga, wide-eyed and hopelessly smitten. Suga hides a laugh behind his hand. 

**

_Their high school colors were orange and black._

Suga crawls into bed, weary from the endless day. His body is exhausted, delighting in the feel of his familiar bed, but his mind is racing. Brown eyes. Brown hair, close-cut and tousled, a neat uniform, tie clumsily held together with an approximation of a knot. Suga’s stomach flips. 

_Let me fix it._

He squeezes his eyes shut, the heels of his hands coming up to press against them. His chest tightens with anticipation, his breath hitches in his throat. Yesterday, he’d been normal. Now, he feels...adrift. For one singular moment, he’d understood what it felt to be grounded, a string tied in a knot behind his navel tethering him to the earth. It’s made everything else feel surreal, too floaty, weightless. He rolls onto his side with a groan, curling up into a ball and willing sleep to come.

He’s on the train platform again. The low murmur of the crowd is the buzzing of a drone. Everyone’s face is a blur. They swarm around him, a human ocean, flickering in and out of view. Suga pushes through the crowd. It’s too tight, there’s too many people, there’s too much noise. He needs to make it to the edge of the platform, he can see an empty space, he just needs to breathe---he shoulders his way through the bodies, breaking out on the other side, and then---

“You.”

The voice cuts through the drone of the crowd. Suga’s heart presses against his ribcage with a yearning so visceral it could cut through glass. 

“You,” he breathes. There, on the other platform, the train track between them. Brown eyes. Brown hair, neat uniform, tie a mess. Orange and black. 

“Who are you?” They speak at the same time. Suga laughs, and realizes he’s crying. It’s joy. The thunder of an approaching train begins to roll in. Panic climbs into his throat, a cloud or a bone. He can see it on the boy’s face -- the boy’s handsome, dependable, unmistakable face -- and Suga presses a hand to his chest.

“I’m Sugawara! Sugawara Koushi.” He hopes the boy can hear him. The train is rattling closer, growing in volume and speed. The other boy smiles. It puts the sun to shame.

“My name is---”

The train speeds between them. Suga jerks and wakes with a start. Sunlight is streaming through his window. Birds chirp, cars hum, something in the kitchen bubbles. Suga sobs.

_Who are you?_


	2. can you find me soon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> part two. again thank u to the groupchat for reading this as voraciously as i wrote it: dani, leanna, pey. xo. idk if folks would like, like, a list of minor background ships? but in this chapter there are brief glimpses of kuroken, tsukiyama, and kagehina. because what's a fanfic about an ensemble show without the ensemble, u know??? anyway. i hope u like it!!!

Daichi feels like he’s moving through molasses. Each step he takes further away from the train station is heavy, reluctant, like he left something important there and hasn’t figured out what.

_Someone._

He’d pressed his way through the train car, muttering half-hearted apologies as he squeezed through the packed car, barely making it to the window before the platform was out of sight. He’d caught a final glimpse of silvered hair, a slender hand touching a pale cheek, and then the boy was gone. Physically, at least. The spirit of him seems to live permanently just out of Daichi’s periphery. There’s no way the starlight boy is behind him, but Daichi keeps checking, just in case.

**

He misses his name being called in class, which results in a few amused giggles and a stern look from his teacher. He shuffles through the hallways, letting others brush past him, a rock in the babbling stream of students. He keeps reaching for his cheek, imagining it’s someone else’s.

_I don’t even know his name._

He’s startled out of his thoughts by a familiar arm being slung around his shoulders. He blinks, turning to catch Kuroo’s smirk slide onto his face. 

“Earth to captain,” Kuroo coos, his hand lifting from Daichi’s shoulder to ruffle at his hair. Daichi rolls his eyes, and smacks Kuroo’s hand away, playing along. Kuroo’s laugh echoes through the hallway, and Daichi rubs his hand over his face.

“You alright? Kenma told me you nearly got chewed out in first period. So unlike you, captain.” 

“I’m fine,” Daichi says, waving off Kuroo’s teasing. He considers asking Kuroo if he knows of a school uniform that’s white and teal, the sort of blue that perfectly complements the color of a well-beloved ring, but thinks better of it. Better to shake the whole thing off.

And then the boy walks past. Daichi whips his head around, his body tensed to sprint. But -- no. Not him. Of course. His body relaxes, shoulders melting with disappointment, and when he turns back to Kuroo, he winces. 

_Caught._

“You sure?”

“I’ll see you later, Kuroo-kun,” Daichi says. His voice floats out of him. He’s hardly aware of the words he’s speaking, can’t even be sure if he spoke at all. He turns, abruptly, and heads for the washroom. Once there, he throws the taps on, leaning his head over the sink and splashing the cold water on his face. He sucks in a breath between his teeth, and closes his eyes, hands clenched into fists.

_Hazel eyes. Birthmark._

He splashes himself again. A door swings open behind him. 

“Sawamura-senpai?”

He quickly runs his hand over his face, eyes lifting to the mirror to spot Yamaguchi behind him. Half of him is relieved. Half of him is humiliated. All of him slumps against the sink, a soft smile warming his face.

“I’ve told you, Daichi is fine.” 

The younger boy’s cheeks brighten, but he nods, scurrying to wash his hands in the sink. Daichi stares at himself in the mirror.

_Pull it together._

_He was just a boy in the city. You’ll probably never see him again._

The thought hits him like a punch to the chest. The wind leaves him. Yamaguchi looks over again, his concerned gaze sliding over Daichi’s face. 

“Sa--Daichi, are you alright?”

Most of the time, Daichi feels comfortable as captain. He’s never noticed how lonely it could feel, standing at a distance from his team even when he’s among them, always looking out for them, even when they don’t know it. Not until today, when he looked across the train tracks and understood, for the first time, what the word _partner_ means. It was like seeing color for the first time and returning to a world shaded in gray. 

He can’t bring himself to look at Yamaguchi. He’s a sweet kid. Daichi’s watched him on the sidelines, fidgeting with the desire for potential, battling his fear. Daichi can give speeches, he can fire up the team, but Daichi knows his limitations. One-on-one pep talks aren’t his forte. He doesn’t know what to say to Yamaguchi, can’t figure out the right combination of words that would leave the boy feeling empowered and not spotlighted in shame.

_He would._

Daichi doesn’t know how he knows that, but the starlight boy would know just what to say to draw Yamaguchi into himself. 

“I’m okay,” Daichi says. His voice is harsher than he intends. Yamaguchi sinks backwards, and Daichi exhales. “Sorry,” he says, lifting his hands to wipe his face. 

“S’fine,” Yamaguchi says. “You should see Tsukki on a bad day.” There’s a light lilt to his voice, a wavering sort of humor, but it wobbles right into Daichi’s chest. He smiles, in spite of himself, and moves his hands from his face. Yamaguchi’s face floods with relief, and Daichi leans back against the sink, shoulders slumping. 

“I don’t know how you put up with him,” Daichi admits, giving Yamaguchi what he hopes is a warmer smile. Yamaguchi shrugs, drawing his gaze down to the sink, but Daichi recognizes the light behind his eyes. 

“We all have bad days,” Yamaguchi says quietly. “But he’s always made mine better.” His cheeks glow. Daichi feels a spear of gratitude lance through his chest. He feels like an older brother, suddenly, the cavernous urge to protect the small kid in front of him. 

“Don’t tell him I said that,” Yamaguchi adds quickly.

“Your secret’s safe with me,” Daichi says. Yamaguchi’s shoulders relax. Daichi has half a mind to sweep the halls for whoever’s been messing with his team, but...he imagines Tsukishima, sliding in front of Yamaguchi, leveling some poor bully with just a glare and a roll of his eyes. His chest hurts. 

“You don’t have to tell me anything,” Yamaguchi starts, turning off the tap, “but. We’re all a part of the team. Including you. You don’t have to carry all of us all the time. We’d carry you, too.” He flushes, again, drying his hands as his gaze drops to the floor. “If you wanted.”

Well. Daichi nearly melts. He smiles, reaching out and clapping a hand on Yamaguchi’s shoulder. Yamaguchi jumps slightly, staring up at Daichi with wide eyes. The older boy grins, squeezing Yamaguchi’s shoulder.

“Thanks.”

It’s not perfect. But it’s a start.

**

The third time he nearly gets hit in the face with a volleyball, Daichi becomes aware that Kuroo is doing it on purpose. He smacks it out of the air, sending it flying towards Takeda, who simply steps to the side as it soars past him. 

“Water break!” Daichi commands. The sounds of volleyballs smacking against the ground and sneakers squeaking across wooden floors fill the gym. He snaps his head towards Kuroo, who’s already looking in every direction but Daichi’s, sauntering over to Kenma’s side. Daichi sucks his teeth. When he walks over to Kuroo, everyone takes a step back. he can hear their murmuring, can practically feel the irritation radiating off of him in waves, but he can’t bring himself to care. The worst part of it all is that he knows it really isn’t Kuroo’s fault. It’s Daichi’s. He’s distracted. His team is relying on him. He’s their _captain._ He needs to be focused, not daydreaming about the shape of a stranger’s mouth.

That’s not gonna stop him from scaring the shit out of Kuroo, but he feels it’s important to admit.

Still, Kuroo’s known him for years, and it’s hard to scare someone who’s seen his penciled doorframe shrine to childhood growth spurts. When Daichi finally reaches the other side of the gym, Kuroo has the nerve to greet him with a warm grin, his eyes crinkling in amusement.

“Hello, captain. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Are you trying to kill me?”

“Are you trying to play?”

Kenma at least has the grace to pretend he’s ignoring them. Daichi still sees the twitch of his mouth, the ghost of a smile. He growls.

“I’m trying to lead our team in practice.”

“Daichi-kun,” Kuroo starts, his calm demeanor digging underneath Daichi’s warm skin. He curls his hand by his side, closing his eyes in concentration.

_A perfectly knotted tie. Hair curling like smoke._

“That’s what I’m talking about,” Kuroo says. Daichi opens his eyes, prepared to bark an order at his friend, but the smug expression Kuroo usually sports is gone. In its place is genuine concern, drawing the taller boy’s eyebrows together. Daichi exhales. His anger’s turned to steam. He runs a hand over his face.

“Sorry,” he mutters.

“What’s going on?”

Daichi inhales. He’s got half a mind to push it aside, but behind Kuroo, Yamaguchi is staring up at Tsukishima, the two of them snickering in close proximity as Hinata and Kageyama squabble, again, over nothing. His perfect imperfect team. _If you wanted._

Wanting is all he knows.

“I saw someone on the train platform this morning,” Daichi starts. Kenma glances up from his phone. Kuroo says nothing--a blessed first--and waits. Daichi struggles to find the words.

“A guy. Our age. He...I’d never met him, Tetsuro. But it’s like…” Daichi presses a hand to his chest, as if the pressure could possibly alleviate him of the ache he’s been carrying all day. It’s not his hand he needs. _Needs,_ like breath or water or the certainty of sunrise. “I knew him. Like, _knew_ him.”

“Daichi,” Kenma says softly. “You’re crying.”

Embarrassed, Daichi reaches up, the tips of his fingers wiping the corners of his eyes. Daichi can count on one hand the amount of times he’s cried in public on one hand. Here he is, in the middle of the gym, crying over a boy he doesn’t know.

But _god,_ does Daichi want to.

“We’re gonna finish practice,” Kuroo says, slapping a hand on Daichi’s shoulder. “And then we’re going to figure out a way to find you this train guy.” Daichi opens his mouth to protest, but Kuroo holds up a finger, shaking his head. 

“It’ll be fun team bonding.” 

Daichi groans. Kuroo grins. Kenma lets out a soft laugh, and at least for the moment, Daichi feels buoyed. 

**

Hinata, apparently, has a childhood friend that moved into the city a few years ago. He’s eager to share the information, unperturbed by Kageyama’s assessment that knowing _one person_ in the city isn’t exactly the ticket to finding a nameless boy. 

“How many people do _you_ know in the city?” Hinata shoots back, all but sticking his tongue out at the taller boy. Kageyama rolls his eyes, but has no response longer than a _tch,_ so Hinata is appeased. He whips his phone out, walking backwards so he can face Daichi as he speaks. Almost instinctively, Kageyama steps loosely in front of him, shoving his hands in his pockets and matching the redhead’s pace. It’s his best attempt at casual, but Daichi understands immediately: the urge to protect Hinata, even reluctantly, in a way that asks for no recognition. Again, a faint pulse of wanting beats in Daichi’s chest. _Partnered._

“Daichi?”

He blinks. 

“What did he look like?” Hinata is staring at him, eyes owlish. Daichi lifts a hand to the back of his neck, a sheepish smile taking over his face.

“Eh, well. He had a white and blue uniform. My height, or, uh, close to it. His hair was silver, and he had a mole. Right here.” He gestures on his own face. He waits until Hinata is looking back down at his phone to make sure he’s not crying again. There are no tears gathering in the corners of his eyes, but the urge is there, strong in his chest. He thinks of the tides, their steady dedication to the moon, an ancient understanding. He isn’t sure which he is, but he knows one thing for sure: he’d let that starlight boy pull him around for the rest of his life. 

It frightens him, a little, to think that way. He wants to be level-headed, logical, wants to dig in his heels and remain stoic and stalwart and steady and solitary. It’s how he’s always been. It’s how he’d always thought he be. 

But he’s seen color now.

They walk home together, as a team, conversation flowing away from Daichi’s mystery and back again. Eventually they all trickle off, turning into their own homes. Yamaguchi gives him a shy smile, Tsukishima a stiff nod, Hinata bellows a promise that _we’re gonna find him, Daichi-san!_ One by one, his teammates go home, until it’s just him and Kuroo. 

“You know,” Kuroo says, lifting his gaze to the sparkling array of stars above. “I used to dream about Kenma.”

Daichi glances over, surprise lifting his eyebrows. The two of them have the easy rapport of childhood friends, but rarely do they dip into the sentimental. Daichi’s almost overwhelmed with gratitude. He doesn’t say anything, just stares at Kuroo patiently. The taller man smirks, a huff of breath escaping him.

“Might sound nuts, but.” He shrugs. “S’true. When you know…” he trails off. Daichi turns his gaze to the road ahead. Kuroo nudges him as they slow to a stop in front of his house. 

“We want you to be happy, too, captain.” 

Daichi lets out a quiet _tsk,_ but his smile is soft and fond in the light of the street lamps. Kuroo returns it before turning into the warmth of his home. Daichi walks home alone, eyes occasionally flickering up to the stars. 

_When you know…_

**

He’s standing on the train platform. The crowd is the sound of the ocean, a dull roar that recedes and crashes against him. Each person is a blur, a messy artist’s interpretation of a human, smearing across the background in streaks of grey and night sky. Daichi stands at the edge of the platform. The train track between them. This time, he won’t be caught unawares. This time, he’ll be waiting. The crowd on the other side is impossibly thick, bodies jostling against one another, too close to tell where one ends and another begins. There’s a ripple of movement. It catches his eye. He leans forward, as far as he dares, and watches the ripple travel closer, and closer, until finally---

“You.” Daichi’s never prayed, but the word comes out like one. The silvered hair, the sea salt uniform, the perfect tie. Eyes like honey, a perfectly placed mole.

“You,” the starlight breathes, his face filled with recognition. Daichi thinks he might die like this: his heart slamming in his chest, his breath eager to escape into the world, his wanting a physical weight in the soles of his feet. 

“Who are you?” They speak in unison. Starlight laughs, and Daichi wants to hear that sound forever. It’s nearly swallowed by the noise of a train -- a viscious, stupid train, selfishly rolling towards them. Panic tightens his chest, vines slithering along his lungs. He can see it on the other boy’s face - his angelic, handpainted, incredible face - and Daichi realizes he’s crying again.

“I’m Sugawara! Sugawara Koushi.” 

It rings like bells. Daichi can’t help but grin, tears spilling over his cheeks. Embarrassment is a foreign language to him. There’s no space for shame in the light of this boy. The train continues to barrel towards them. It’s close. Too close. Daichi swallows, lifting his voice, a hand flying to his chest.

“My name is---”

The train barrels past, blaring the sound of his alarm. Daichi jerks awake, coming to a full seat. One hand is still on his chest. The other clutches at the sheets, fingers digging into the fabric, twisting with anguish. He’d been so close. The shape of his own name is on the tip of his tongue, and he wants to spit it out, wants to memorize the shape of Sugawara’s name -- and it’s strange, to believe a dream, but it wasn’t just a dream. He knows that. His fingers tighten against his shirt. 

_Sugawara Koushi._

_I will find you._


	3. i don't know you (yet)

Lunch with Kiyoko and Yachi is equal parts delightful and disastrous. Suga arrives early, maybe too early, an attempt at making up for his late entrance last night. He takes a seat at a booth within the sightline of the cafe’s doors, and checks--and double-checks--that he’s in the right place. When Kiyoko and Yachi arrive, he sees them before they see him. Yachi darts in first, a blur of blonde hair and nervous energy, immediately soothed by Kiyoko’s hand on the back of her arm. It’s strange, almost, to see his co-worker out of her uniform, but stranger still to see her so at ease. Without hesitation, she lifts her hand to her girlfriend’s face, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear. It’s the tenderness that Suga is jealous of, and the certainty. It makes him feel bestial, an ugly shadow self, and he inhales slowly. Kiyoko turns, then, and lifts a gracious hand. Suga waves back, willing the jealousy to recede for now.

Yachi is sweet. Nervous, absolutely. Her words get tangled in the back of her throat, and she constantly wavers between speaking quickly and not speaking at all, but through it all Kiyoko is patient, calm. She seems to know what Yachi wants to say, but never speaks for her, just asks the right questions to let Yachi find her way on her own. They fit well. Suga isn’t sure if this is just how his life is going to be now, so observant of all the ways in which he is a solitary being in a world full of pairs. At some point, Kiyoko excuses herself from the table, and Yachi looks like she might melt into the ground. Suga gives her a smile he hopes will put her at ease.

“Kiyoko said you wanted to know about Karasuno?” Yachi blurts. Suga’s eyebrows arch, but before she can spill another apology, he nods.

“Is that the name of the school? In your hometown?” 

She nods.

“It’s nice,” she says, brightening. “Everyone there was really kind.” She looks at him, the question evident on her face. Suddenly, Suga feels silly. What could he possibly say to her? He saw a boy on the train wearing orange and black and felt at home? He’s hoping to find that boy--that nameless boy, that golden boy--and...what? His stomach twists. He can’t talk about it, not here. If he starts crying, he knows Yachi will cry, and Kiyoko will come back and determine him unstable and maybe she’d be right about that. He speaks before Yachi can.

“What made you move?”

She smiles, but doesn’t push it. He could cry.

“My mom got a job out here. A big one, very important. She’s a designer. I draw too, a little -- I’m not as good as her, but I’m working on it. I make some posters sometimes, and fliers and stuff. Don’t tell her, but I’m working on a portrait of Kiyoko.” She flushes, and Suga understands why Kiyoko feels drawn to her. Underneath her trembling exterior, Yachi is excited, burning with an awe at all that surrounds her. It’s hard not to find it endearing.

“Could I see? Some of your art? Only if you want to, of course,” Suga says, not wanting to spoil the moment by pushing her too far. Apparently, it was the right question. Yachi positively beams. She nods, rapidly, fumbling for her phone in her bag. She presses a few buttons and slides it across the table. Suga leans forward.

“Yachi-san,” he breathes, staring at the photo. “This is incredible.” 

It’s a poster for a volleyball team -- Karasuno, he assumes, based on the colors of the uniform. A boy who couldn’t be much taller than Yachi herself soars in the center, and Suga isn’t sure if it’s a trick of the camera or the truth, but the boy is well above the net, hand pulled back to deliver what’s sure to be a powerful spike. There’s a little information about the team’s fundraiser, but it’s eye-catching and gorgeous and filled with that wonder Yachi radiates. 

The phone begins to buzz on the table. _Shoyo!!!_ pops up on the screen, an incoming call. 

“Oh!” Yachi exclaims, reaching forward and ignoring the call. “Sorry!”

“It’s fine,” he says, waving away her apologies. Kiyoko returns from the bathroom, and Yachi slides her phone back into her bag, and the rest of lunch goes by. Suga can’t exactly ask if Yachi knows the boy from the train--he still doesn’t know his name, and he can hardly describe him without sounding like a stalker or a forlorn poet or both--but he gets the name of her hometown and the general directions to get there. They talk for another hour or so, and when they depart, Kiyoko gives him a hug.

Somewhere, he’s sure, Noya faints.

**

“Sorry, Daichi-san, she’s not answering.” Hinata looks up at him with apologetic eyes, big as fists, and Daichi does his best to make sure none of his disappointment is apparent. He smiles, instead, and shakes his head.

“It’s fine, Hinata,” he says.

“Can’t believe you thought that would work,” Tsukishima mutters. Hinata whirls on him, shouting about _the power of fate_ and _always having to try,_ and _god, Tsukishima-kun do you have a heart?_ Daichi places a hand on Hinata’s shoulder to rescue both the first-years.

“Seriously, Hinata, it’s okay. Thanks for trying.” Hinata is quick in everything--it takes no time at all for him to go from growling at Tsukishima to beaming at Daichi, giving him a thumbs-up and everything. Daichi smiles, squeezing Hinata’s shoulder. 

“Alright,” he says, trying to slip back into captain mode. “Let’s practice receives.” He gets only groans in response.

“Are we trying to lose every game?” He barks, and they all snap to attention. They settle back into the routine of practice, but Daichi can’t help but feel as if he’s missed the only train he needed to catch. He isn’t even sure what Hinata could have said to his friend--Kageyama and Tsukishima, for all their gloom, aren’t entirely off the mark. It’s the slimmest of chances that Hinata’s friend even knows which school in the city has that color scheme, and even slimmer still that she’ll know anyone at that school. It’s next to impossible she’d _know_ Sugawara. 

His heart skips a beat.

_Sugawara! Sugawara Koushi!_

The ball smacks him right in the chest. He ignores the look he can feel Kuroo giving him from across the gym, just chases after the ball. He can’t shake the sound of Sugawara’s laugh.

**

Suga stands in front of the map at the train station, eyes tracing the green line connecting his station to Miyagi’s. It would be absolutely absurd to buy a ticket. It would be absurd to get on a train to a town he’s only half-sure is the right town, to spend the hour on the train staring out the window, to walk into Miyagi and wander around hoping to make eye contact with the boy who swallowed the sun. Almost as absurd as giving away his name in a dream. 

_What if I find him? What if I find him and he’s with his girlfriend? What if I find him and he’s with his boyfriend? What if I find him and he doesn’t recognize me? What if I don’t find him? What if he isn’t there? What if he’s gone? What if that’s all I get?_

He stares at the map. He shifts his weight, adjusts the strap of his bag, stares at the map. His brow furrows. There’s laughter behind him. It feels directed at him, a sign from the universe, made of cruelty.

_Turn around._

He doesn’t.

Kuroo has to drag Daichi off of the train. He’s reluctant, and foolish, his mouth made of cotton.

“Cheer up, captain,” Kuroo chirps. “I need you in high spirits to help me find Kenma’s gift.” 

“That’s not why we’re here,” Daichi says. Kuroo gives him a blank stare.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he lies. “Kenma wants a new game and they’ve got the best ones here. And if we happen to run into anyone, well, it’s just a bonus.” Daichi groans, and Kuroo grins.

“At least I didn’t bring the whole team. This time,” he leers, bursting into laughter at the expression on Daichi’s face. The shorter man sighs, succumbing to his fate. They walk by a small crowd, travelers gathered around the station’s map.

_Turn around._

He doesn’t.

**

Daichi walks into the gym to find the first years crowded around Hinata.

“I told you she was real!” Hinata crows, shoving his phone in Kageyama’s face.

“She’s pretty,” Yamaguchi stammers. Tsukishima sucks his teeth, discomfort evident in the lines of his shoulders. Daichi watches as Yamaguchi says nothing, just leans closer to Tsukishima. Daichi knows his team well enough to recognize the relief in Tsukishima. On a better day, the sight would cheer him, knowing their ever-stoic middle blocker reserved his tenderness for his best friend. Daichi thinks maybe, his better days are behind him. He clears his throat. Nearly in unison, they all jump--except Tsukishima, who only glances over--and then scatter onto the court. Hinata’s phone falls into his bag. The photograph of a blonde, a brunette, and a boy made of starlight disappears.

**

The train is quiet at this time of night. Yachi snores quietly, snuggled into Kiyoko’s side, and their heads are resting together. The two of them are peaceful after a long day spent wandering Yachi’s hometown. Suga feels guilty. They’d invited him along on their trip, a special invitation, and he’d spent the whole time tense, unable to relax even for a moment. His head hurts. He drops his chin to his chest, rubbing a hand along the juncture where his shoulder reaches his neck.

If he’d been looking up, he might have seen a disheveled jacket around broad shoulders, slumped against the seat, brown eyes staring at the ceiling and praying for a miracle. 

When Daichi drops his gaze to the window, the passing train is gone.

**

Try as he might, he can never make it back to the train station in his dreams.

**

Aoba Johsai has a practice match with a small team from the country. Suga has to take a makeup exam. Daichi has a cold. Both of them, fists curled by their sides, miles and miles apart.

**

Suga is beginning to think he made it all up. The dream, the boy, the ruffled hair and crooked tie. Oikawa and Iwaizumi drag him out of his house, pull him to the rooftop of Iwaizumi’s home, crack open a few stolen beers and try to cheer him up. He takes the bottle and lifts it to his mouth. He doesn’t stop drinking until he has to gasp for breath. His friends stare at him, a mixture of pity and sympathy and concern. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and slumps back in his chair. 

“I don’t know what happened to me,” he says, voice as small as a pin. Oikawa is by his side in an instant, Iwaizumi a step behind, and Suga lets his friends hold him as he cries. He buries his face in Oikawa’s shoulder, and he can feel their connected gaze above him. Iwaizumi puts a soothing hand on his back, and it isn’t enough, it’s never enough, Suga is starting to think nothing will ever be enough.

**

Daichi is alone. He’d begged Kenma to distract Kuroo, just for a day, and the setter had only nodded. Not for the first time, Daichi was grateful for his silence. He rides the train with his head in his hands. It never gets easier. He feels cursed, maybe, serving an eternal punishment for some horrible crime committed in a past life. Not once, in all of his trips, accompanied by Kuroo or Kenma or the whole team, has he found even a snippet of proof that Sugawara Koushi exists. He has nothing to go off of except for the pounding of his heart every time he thinks of the boy. Never in his life has he been so consumed by something, not even volleyball. The whole world is a desert to him, an endless sea of sand that threatens to swallow him whole but never makes good on the promise. 

He wanders out of the train station. Each time before this, a good-natured travel companion would pull him towards the busier streets, the bustling shops, the places filled to the brim with people. Daichi ducks into a side street.

Good stargazing requires peace.

He doesn’t think about where he’s going. He follows a lovely hedge of golden bells, turns down a side street guarded by a particularly fierce feral cat, pauses to admire a community vegetable garden. He imagines Sugawara trimming the flowers, leaving a dish of food out, tugging at particularly stubborn weeds. He accepts it with a weary defeat. He can’t keep thinking about him. He can’t stop thinking about him. The ghost of the boy follows him everywhere, taunts him, nuzzles up to Daichi’s side and disappears when he tries to hold him. 

Daichi finds himself at the bottom of a large staircase, carved from stone, a simple railing cutting it in half. His stomach growls. He exhales, turns his gaze down, and begins to climb. He’s halfway up when Sugawara walks past him. 

Daichi falters, just for a moment. He can’t turn around. He can’t do it. He can’t turn and watch the figure dissipate into thin air, some demon smirk all that’s left behind. He takes another step forward. His heart clamors in his chest, a frightened bird. He takes another step. His mouth goes dry. His stomach swims. Another step. He thinks of Yamaguchi leaning, of Kuroo’s gentle admission of dreaming, of Hinata shouting about fate. 

His foot touches the top stair. His whole body is screaming, his pride pushing him forward, backed by his fear, his heart turning to stone, limbs growing heavy, his hand grips the railing and his fingers clench and he thinks, _now or never._

“Hey!” 

No one has ever _yelled_ at him before. He spins, relief washing over him, a blush flushing his cheeks. Standing at the base of the stairs, the starlight boy glimmers, his perfect face furrowed. Daichi wants to run his thumb along those cheekbones, smooth the wrinkles from between his brows. He wants to stare forever. He blinks, and he blinks, and the boy stays solid, stays angry. His vision starts to swim.

“You -- I know you. I don’t -- but it’s _you,_ ” Sugawara says. He’s marching up the stairs, the determination in his eyes blurred by the tears welling in them. The world spins, bright and lush, bursting at the seams with color. Daichi is crying.

“It’s me,” Daichi manages.

“And you were just going to keep walking?” Sugawara sounds so incensed, the palest hint of hurt shadowing his words, and Daichi can’t help it. He smiles. He feels thoroughly chastised--god, if the team could see him now, _him,_ getting lectured by the moon himself. Sugawara lets out a noise of protest, but doesn’t stop moving, not until they’re a stair apart. His hands settle on his hips--his _hips,_ Daichi thinks, helplessly--and he cocks his head. 

“I thought,” Daichi starts, and Sugawara lifts an eyebrow, a single tear sparkling across his smooth cheek. Daichi’s hand lifts before he can stop himself, and it hovers in between them for a moment. He drops it, flustered, and starts over.

“I thought it --- I got scared it wouldn’t really be you, I guess.” It sounds stupid falling out of his mouth, but it’s the truth, and anything less would be worse. He lifts his hand to the back of his neck, and Sugawara huffs, still crying. Still, Daichi can see the light of hope swimming in hazel. It reflects in him, a golden ball glowing directly behind his belly button. He can feel it, sure as fire, burning hot. Sugawara’s delicate fingers catch the tear Daichi has been tracking with his gaze. 

“I can forgive that,” Sugawara says. Daichi’s done for. He was finished on the train platform, but now that the starlight boy is here, sunlight kissing his ashen hair, Daichi knows. He’s the tides. He would go wherever Sugawara directed, even away--but god, he hopes Sugawara never asks that of him, he hopes his wanting is reciprocated, his otherworldly yearning not his alone. 

Suga can hardly believe his eyes. His chest is heaving, the rush of passing by him, again, leaving him unsteady. Another brief brush with the golden boy and he’d almost _walked away_.And then Suga had yelled at him, and the boy had _smiled_. Suga had cracked in half. He flicks the tear away, but still more are coming. The sheer relief of touching the ground is making him dizzy. He digs his other hand into his hip, keeping him awake, keeping him present, as he shamelessly studies the boy in front of him. Even out of uniform, he’s well-kept, all sturdy lines and simple colors and neat, but his collar is crooked. Suga’s fingers tighten against his hip, flexing with the instinct to adjust. His eyes paint over the boy’s neck, eyes tracing along his jawline, and Suga realizes he’s nervous, he’s so nervous, he can’t do this. He lifts his eyes and meets the boy’s gaze.

What was he thinking? Suga could do anything if he keeps looking at him like that.

“You never told me your name,” Suga says, soft, suddenly. Shy. He feels like he might melt into the stone beneath his feet. The boy grins, a crooked sliver Suga wants to taste.

“Sawamura. You can call me Daichi.”

“Daichi,” Suga tries. The puzzle flips over, the picture revealed: _Daichi_. “You can call me Suga,” he says, pressing his mouth into a smile. He’s still crying, but so is Daichi--Daichi!--and Suga can’t possibly feel embarrassed in front of him. Not now. Not ever.

“Are you -- were you going somewhere? Or?” Daichi asks, shifting his weight on his feet. Suga’s smile brightens, his eyes softening. He shakes his head.

“No,” he says. _Nowhere that wasn’t you._

The smile Daichi gives him plants Suga so firmly on the earth he almosts gasps.

“Can I - would you want to come with me? To coffee? Or lunch? Do you -- are you hungry?” Daichi asks, his cheeks reddening as he trips over his words. Suga’s gone. Melted, softened, attached. 

“I am. I know a good spot nearby.” He leans against the railing, his sudden groundedness making him bold, drunk off delight. “Daichi, will you accompany me to lunch?” He bats his eyelashes. Daichi laughs, the crackling of a hearth.

“I thought I was asking you out.” 

“I’m full of surprises. And terribly competitive,” Suga admits, a half-shrug lifting his shoulder in faux nonchalance. 

“Good.” Daichi smirks. “So am I.”

He takes a step forward, closing the space between them, and Suga barely manages to maintain his composure. He lifts his chin, face tilting towards Daichi. A thousand years could pass like this, he thinks, the two of them inches apart, and he’d never grow tired of the sight. Daichi’s breath catches in his throat. 

_He’s beautiful._

_He’s real._

_He’s_ here.

“Lead the way,” Daichi says, his voice like rich earth, the softness from which all good things grow. Suga smiles. They walk, side-by-side, towards the city, the coffee, the rest of forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ty for reading!!! feel free to comment below ur thoughts if u had any. uhhhh i'm very grateful to be a part of this very talented fandom & i hope u enjoyed my first offering. there might be others to come. who knows. these volleyboys have taken over my brain. idk what was your favorite part???? was the ending too cheesy??? i live for Notes


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